Home Sweet Home
by RavishinglyRood
Summary: After a family is murdered in their small town home, Mulder and Scully go under cover as foster parents to try coax answers from the only survivor. But can they keep their professional lives separate from the personal? Takes place before Mulder's abducti
1. “Wait. We’re going undercover? As what? ...

**Author's Note:** Don't be alarmed by the short length of this chapter. I have the story completely finished, with the exception of some minor proofreading in the later chapters. If you like this, please review. If you hate it, please review; you might be able to help me get better, and that's really what reviews are for, right? Now, away we go…

911 Dispatch  
Bloomfield, Kansas  
10:45 P.M.  


It had been a long, boring night. No, it had been a long, boring week. It had been one of those weeks that made Cray Benedict long to get out of the small-time town, to be anywhere where there was something, anything, going on. Even when a call did come in, it was usually just a case of an old woman breaking her hip. Still, the phones had been quiet forever. That is why he jumped, knocking his coffee over in the process, when he heard the ring. 

"Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?" he asked, running a napkin over the brown liquid soaking through the carpet. 

"My family…they're…they're…" 

"Son, you're going to have to hold yourself together. What's your emergency?" 

"My family…they're dead." 

_Oh jeeze, he thought, looks like I got my wish._ He was fully alert now, and the numbers seemed to jump off the computer screen. "Okay, we have your address and I'm dispatching an ambulance. Please, calm down. Can you describe what happened?" 

"My sister and my parents are dead." 

"Are you sure? Are they still breathing?" he asked again. He was met by silence. 

"Are you still there?" Cray repeated. "Are they still breathing? Hello? Hello?" 

The next thing he heard was the click of the receiver and the whine of the dial tone. 

Beeeeeep. 

The X-Files  
Home Sweet Home  
Everything Dies but Hope 

FBI Headquarters  
Washington D.C.

"What we have is three murders within the same household. The only survivor was the son, twelve-year-old David Anderson. From the reports, he was present at the time of the murders, and he made the original phone call to 911. His sister, Kristina Anderson, age ten, was found in the basement at the base of the stairs; her injuries show she died from a fall down them, and the authorities are confident it was no accident. The father, Carter Anderson age thirty-eight, died of a gunshot wound through his chest. The murder weapon was found outside, underneath David's bedroom window with his fingerprints on it."

"So we think the boy did it?"

"That's correct, Agent Scully."

"Excuse me, sir, but I don't see why you need us on this case; there's no unexplained activity here as far as I can tell."

"Agent Mulder, will you will allow me to finish?"

"Go right ahead, Assistant Director," Mulder replied smugly.

"In addition, the mother Patricia Anderson, age thirty-five, died under more mysterious circumstances. Her body suffered severe burns both outside and inside. Police don't know what to make of it. In addition, while the gun that police believe was used to murder the Carter Anderson has David's fingerprints on it, his prints are not on the trigger." Skinner paused, expecting his agents to respond. When neither did, he added, "We do not know for sure the boy committed any murders, and we do not know what happened to Patricia Anderson. Is that unexplained- or should I say paranormal- enough for you, Agent Mulder?"

"Well, sir, I would have preferred the involvement of metamorphic lawn gnomes, but I'll take what I can get."

"And what are we supposed to accomplish on this case, sir?" Scully asked, trying to force away the smirk that came from her partner's enjoyment in torturing their superior.

"Well, Agent Scully, David Anderson is the only witness to the events that happened on the night in question and the only suspect as well. That was a month ago, and no one has gotten a single word out of him about it. You two are going to go undercover in hopes of getting him to talk."

"Wait. We're going undercover? As what? Babysitters?" 

"No, Agent Mulder, you and Agent Scully are going to be posing as foster parents for young David," Skinner said, trying to force his smirk away as he caught the resentful look on Mulder's face. He loved torturing him so…

* * *

"He's finally done it this time Scully. He's gone too far. Has our status in this bureau fallen so much that we're reduced to glorified babysitting on behalf of the state?"

"You sound as if you aren't looking forward to this case, Mulder," Scully said, walking beside him and thumbing through the police report.

"What could have given you that impression?" he replied, sarcastically.

"I don't know. It hit me somewhere around the third time you said 'this case sucks,'" The expression on his face changed to an embarrassed one. She grinned.

"Look, I just don't see why _we_ have to go about it like _this_." They were rounding a corner, and he was starting up again. His tie bounced up and down as he moved his hands for effect. "Why can't we just tie him to a wall, stick a funnel in his mouth, and force feed him sauerkraut until he tells us the truth?"

"Bruce Springsteen?"

"Al Yankovic."

She paused awkwardly for a second. "Well, Mulder, while our status may not have fallen, your taste in music apparently has."

"Hey, if that guy isn't proof of extraterrestrial life, I don't know what is."

"Back on subject, Mulder, we don't know David did anything for sure. Looking at the pictures of the mother's body, I can verify something extremely out of the normal happened that night. What, exactly, I'm not sure." 

She held out the picture for her partner to take. His face remained expressionless as he saw it. "Woah. It's like a giant, fat, hairy pizza. What do you suppose could have caused this, Scully?"

"Like I said, I'm not sure. The best I can come up with, off the top of my head, is the possibility of combustion caused by the buildup of gases associated with the digestive track in the body combined with a considerable amount of body hair. Put that with a lit cigarette and…" She frowned slightly when she saw he was smirking. "Are you laughing at me, Mulder?"

"Your skepticism is becoming more skewed every day." Her expression did not change. "You do realize you just, more or less, suggested spontaneous combustion as a plausible cause of this, right?" He chuckled, walking off.

"You know, Mulder," she called after him, "one of these days it's not going to be metamorphic lawn gnomes or government puppet masters! It's going to be science! We'll just see who's smirking then!" Her voice echoed through the hallway, and she realized there were people around her. 

* * *


	2. David

219 Wilkons Dr.  
Bloomfield, Kansas

Though she's only been here for twenty-four hours, the house seems so familiar. There's something about it that feels so right, yet so amazing and new, that Dana Scully just cannot put her finger on. It was a large, two story house- much bigger than three people needed. The bedrooms were upstairs, and theirs had its own private bathroom. Maybe Scully felt the way she did because the house had that cozy, home-ish feel to it. Whatever it was, she's spent half the morning trying to tell herself it's nothing, and the other half trying to convince herself it is. "The bureau went all out on this place, didn't they, Mulder?" 

"Sugar-pumpkin," he said walking into the room, "we're married now. You don't have to call me by my, I mean, _our_ last name."

"And what would you like me to call you, dear?" 

"How about Rodriguez?" 

"Why Rodriguez?"

"It's just as ridiculous as Fox but a hell of a lot cooler."

Before she could add to their conversation, the doorbell rang, sending Scully to her feet. "That must be David." She gripped the doorknob firmly. "Are you ready to become parents, Rodriguez?"

"Why do I feel like we forgot an important, _sexy_, step?"

She laughed as she opened the door. There, on the step, stood a woman in a black pantsuit. To her side stood a young boy, a ball cap covering his dark hair, looking down at his shoes with his skateboard and suitcase in hand. The suitcase must have been half his size, she mused, as he set it down. "Well, you must be David," Scully said, smiling. He looked up and gave her a sheepish smile. 

"Mrs. and Mr. Mulder? I'm Sandra Richter; I'm here to drop off David," the woman said, extending her hand. Turning to David, she added, "You'll be okay here, right?"

"Yeah," he said meekly.

"Here, let me help you with that suitcase," Mulder said, stepping forward. He gripped the suitcase handle and tried to pick it up, but it would not budge. 

"No, I got it. Thanks, though," David replied picking it up again. Scully was talking to Sandra, and David was still looking at the ground; Mulder felt the obligation to talk. 

"So, I see you like baseball," he said, eying the boy's cap.

"Yeah. I watch it all the time. I like to play too, but I never really got a chance to." His face seemed to get sad when he said it. 

"Maybe we could go out and toss a few balls around," Mulder said. 

"Yeah, maybe."

"Well, David," Scully said as she shut the door, "make yourself at home."

"Thanks, Mrs. Mulder." 

"Please, call me Dana," she said. There was a moment of awkward silence, and she wondered why her partner was not saying anything. Finally, she elbowed him in the side. "Oh, uh, you can call me Fox," he said, looking away and rubbing his side.

"Fox?" David asked. As he looked up, Scully could see his deep brown eyes and the corner of his mouth upturned slightly. "What's that? Is it like a name your college buddies gave you?"

"No," Mulder replied, looking down at his hands. "It's the name my parents gave me. They had a cruel sense of humor." He smiled a little as he spied the slight upturn of David's lips. "So, you skateboard?"

"Yeah. I haven't done it much lately, though." 

He looked down at the floor. Mulder rocked on his heels. The silence was so awkward and seemed to drag on forever. Finally, Scully broke it. "So, David, what else do you like to do?"

_If he says senseless acts of violence, can we go home?_ Mulder thought. It wasn't even three minutes into the case, and already he hated it more than he had in D.C.

"I don't know. Not much. Play computer games and stuff."

"Oh really?" Mulder asked, perking up a bit. "Have you ever heard of **Galaxy Cross**?"

"Heard of it? It's my favorite game! I've almost beat the Zardak Army."

"Really? I can't get past the Pungan Pig Warrior. He keeps slaying all my privates."

Scully was blushing.

"Do you want to challenge me at it sometime?" David asked.

"Sure, why not?" Noticing Scully glaring at him, he hastily added, "If you really want me to, that is."

"Why don't I show you to your room, David?" Scully asked, offering to carry his suitcase.

"Thanks, Mrs. Mulder, but I can get my suitcase," he said. He started up the stairs at Scully's direction.

"All of your privates, Mulder?" She smiled as she said it, rubbing it in so very slyly.

"I lead a very sad and pathetic life, Scully." He watched her go up the stairs. _ At least the kid has some redeeming qualities_, Mulder thought, rubbing his hands together. Something felt funny. He looked down at the palm of his hand, the one he had tried to pick the suitcase up with, and noticed it was now black... 

* * *

"Well, you and David really hit it off, Mulder," Scully said, sitting on the edge of the bed. He was spreading a sleeping bag out of the floor and never bothered to look up. 

"I can't help it if we have a lot in common." No matter how bitter he tried to make the words sound, she saw through it. He was enjoying David's company. They had laughed at dinner like old friends seeing each other for the first time in ages. He was smiling in a way that she did not see very often from him; it was like he was actually happy. 

"What do you think of him, Scully?" Mulder asked. 

"Of David?" she asked. He nodded. "I think he's a very sweet, charming, and endearing young man."

"Synonymous with 'conniving, manipulative, conman'. He doesn't act like someone who's lost his entire family." 

"Well, Mulder, it was pretty traumatic. He could be repressing, or, for fear of being caught, he could be putting on a front to throw us off. You know how those manipulative conmen are."

He nodded and reached up to the lamp sitting on the nightstand. "Goodnight, sugar lumpkin," he said, switching it off. 

"Goodnight, Mulder," she replied. She pulled the covers over her, filling a little guilty that her partner was sleeping on the floor. She had offered him the bed, volunteering to take the floor herself, but he had refused. It was one of the few redeeming qualities of the male ego. Now she lied, the coolness of the sheets against her body and the soft feather pillow underneath her head. Outside, a storm was picking up. Every few seconds the dark silence of the room was shattered by the violent fury of light and noise just beyond the window. Something was wrong; she felt it, but didn't know quite what it was.

"Mulder," she began, "when you were a little kid, and it started to storm, what did you do?"

"I rolled over and went back to sleep," he replied, groggily.

"You mean, you didn't run into your parents bedroom?"

"I did once, but it was only to throw the bogey man off my trail. Why? Are you suggesting that David might come bursting in here? Scully, he's twelve! He doesn't want to climb into bed with anyone." He paused, thinking about what he had said. "Well, you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," she replied. "It's just that…" She was interrupted by a knock on the bedroom door. "Quick! Mulder! Hide the sleeping bag!" she hissed.

Mulder swore as he banged his shin against the nightstand. Scully, meanwhile, jumped out of bed and sprinted for the door. Looking back, she saw her partner in her place, the sleeping bag hidden underneath the bed. Pushing her hair back, she opened the door. On the other side stood David, wearing a T-shirt and a pair of shorts, his dark hair messed up. She tried to smile as sweetly as possible. "Yes, David?"

"I really hate to bother you …but I was wondering where you kept the extra toilet paper. The roll's empty, and it's kind of an emergency," he said as though he could see as much humor in it as Mulder did.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, and as she left his view, Mulder laughed.

* * *


	3. "Maybe it's remorse."

Mulder slowly lowered his can of cola to the table. As he let go, the coolness of the container remained with his hand. He was in the kitchen, at the table, sifting through some magazines he had brought with him. They had been sitting on his desk at home, for how long he did not remember, and he had grabbed them without looking through them. For the most part, he was killing time because he was bored, and the yokels in town had not given up much information. 

"Hey, Mis…I mean, Fox," David said. His face was red, his hair stuck to his head with sweat, and he had his skateboard with him. He sat his backpack on the floor.

"Hey, David," Mulder replied, flipping through an old_ Lone Gunmen_. "How was school?"

"Eh," David replied, opening the refrigerator.

"Good to see some things never change," Mulder replied.

"Shouldn't you be at work?" David asked suspiciously.

"We wrapped the case up early; they settled out of court," Mulder replied. 

"Oh," said David as he slumped down in a chair next to Mulder, soda in hand, and took off his baseball cap. He exhaled deeply. "What are you looking at?" he asked.

"Oh, it's nothing," Mulder replied, calmly putting the _Lone Gunmen_ underneath the stack. Looking up, he said, "It's just some old magazines." 

David turned his head to read the title. "_Juggers Monthly_?" 

"Huh? What are you…? Oh." Mulder tried to hide the magazine underneath his elbow. "That's…uh.. this is… well, uhh…"

"Isn't that Bambi Roberts?" David asked, pointing to one of the more scantily clad girls on the cover.

"Now how the hell did you know that?" Mulder asked. She was a regular to the magazine, and as far as Mulder knew, she was exclusive to it. 

"A friend had one of these at school once," David replied innocently.

"And yet that want to ban **Huck Finn**." Mulder tipped his chair back and looked around the corner to make sure Scully was nowhere around. "Check this out," Mulder said, opening the magazine.

David's eyes opened wide and his mouth dropped. "What's she doing?"

"Hey, guys," Scully said, walking into the room. 

"And if I ever catch you looking at pornography again, why, there is going to be hell to pay, young man," Mulder suddenly said, sternly pointing a finger at David.

"Cut it out, dear. I know it's yours," Scully said. She washed her hands in the sink and left the room.

Mulder turned and watched her leave. "Sorry to rat you out like that," Mulder said, turning to David. The boy was smiling, but he was rubbing his head. 

"It's okay," he said, wincing slightly, "You and her get along really well."

"Yeah…" Mulder replied, feeling guilty. David had his head buried in his hand. "Is something wrong?"

"Yeah, my head hurts. Do you have any Tylenol?"

"It's in the first drawer of the nightstand in our room," Mulder replied.

"Thanks," David said and left the room. 

Mulder turned his attention to the magazine, thumbing through it. "Hello, Miss July."

"Hey, Mulder," Scully asked, returning to the room, "where's David?"

"He's in our room getting Tylenol," he replied, turning the magazine and pulling out the centerfold. 

"Mulder," she said, her tone very serious, "that's where your gun is."

They were at the top of the stairs before the magazine ever hit the ground. They stood in the doorway, despite of all of their training and preparation, neither knew for sure what to do. David stood unmoving, save the steady up and down movement of his back that fell into rhythm with his breathing. He was looking down, into the drawer. _He looks so pale_, Scully thought. "David," she said.

"You have a gun." His voice was sad, slow, and distant, just above a whisper. He sounded like he was in a state of disbelief, questioning how they could betray him like this. 

"Yes, David, we are aware of it," she replied. She felt Mulder's hand on her shoulder and drew support from it. 

"Why?" David asked.

Scully froze. She did not know what to tell him. She could not tell him the truth, obviously, but what could she say? Luckily, Mulder was there to save her. "It's for protection in case somebody breaks in."

"Oh," David said. He was standing there in front of them, but he sounded a million miles away, lost in a world where only he was allowed presentation. His body began to shake slightly, almost like he was struggling to keep from crying. Scully moved to his side, and laid her hands on his shoulders. 

"Are you okay, David?" she asked.

He inhaled deeply, and swallowed hard. "Yeah," he replied. 

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Will you be all right?"

"Yeah." He looked up at her, and smiled weakly. His eyes met hers; they were sad, hopeless eyes, and they were tearing her heart out.

* * *

"Now I'm pretty sure we have the right kid," Mulder said from their private bathroom.

"Yeah," Scully replied distantly. 

"Scully, is something wrong?" Mulder came into the room, toothbrush and foam hanging out of his mouth.

"I was just thinking about what happened today, the way he looked at me, Mulder. I've never seen such pain in a person's face before."

"Maybe it's remorse."

"Maybe…" she replied. 

"You know, Mulder, we have been with him two days," she said, "and so far we have not uncovered much. I knew it was going to take time to build his trust, but I think we should be doing something more than watching movies and chugging cola, hoping for a break. I was planning on going through police records and stopping by the morgue tomorrow, but there must be something else we can do."

"I am way ahead of you, Scully," Mulder replied slyly.

* * *< /center>


	4. Brave Soldiers

"Hey, was this here yesterday?" David asked, eying a picture sitting on the mantle. Surrounded by a dark, chestnut frame, the picture portrayed a boy and a girl sitting on the steps of a house. She had his arm around him, and they were smiling like nothing ever went wrong in their perfect little lives. David could not believe he had missed it before. 

"Yeah, didn't you notice it?" Mulder replied from the couch. 

"No, guess not," David said suspiciously. He turned back to the picture, and Mulder's mouth turned up in a slight, sly smirk. "Who are these kids? Are they like your niece and nephew or something?" David asked, picking up the picture. 

Mulder motioned for David to sit down next to him. When he did, the agent took the picture from him. "That's me. And that's my sister, Samantha," Mulder said, pointing her out. 

"Oh," David said, sounding slightly surprised. "Are you close?"

"We were," Mulder replied, only the years keeping his voice from catching in his throat.

"Were?" David knew he should not press further, but his curiosity had been pricked. "What happened to her?"

"She's…gone. She left us a long time ago." Mulder realized he was looking down. Maybe this had not been such a great idea after all. He could feel the young boy's eyes on him; the boy wanted to know more, but was afraid to ask it. Mulder could feel it. "It's a long story. I don't feel like talking about it right now."

David hesitated, his voice wavering slightly as he asked, "Do you miss her?"

"Every day."

"Oh." David sighed, long and low. He was in another world again, much like Mulder and Scully had seen the night before. Suddenly, the boy spoke, "I had a sister. I miss her a lot too."

_This is it. This is the break we've been searching for. The picture worked; now's my chance to establish a motive behind the murder_. Mulder looked up at David; he was looking down at his hand, and it looked like he was crying, only no tears came rolling down his cheek, as one would expect. Perhaps they had dried out a long time ago.

Mulder suddenly felt very uncomfortable. It was like looking into a mirror; how often had he sat on his bed as a child surrounded by the sounds of his own heart breaking with misery, loss heavy on his mind? He knew he should say something; he knew all too well what it was like to lose someone, to miss her so much yet knowing that he may never see her again. Only for David, there was no hope to see her again. She was gone for good. 

"You know," David started, his voice unsteady, "I never got to go to her funeral." 

Not knowing what else to do, Mulder put his arm awkwardly around the child. David buried his face in his hands, still not crying, but rocked back and forth on a sea of emotions. Mulder really wished Scully was there; he knew from experience she was good at saying the right thing in this sort of situation. Unfortunately, she was out "running errands". So Mulder was left to sit there, uncomfortable though it was for him, comforting the child next to him. The child that had, only the night before, laughed aloud at even the most obscure of references in the movies they had watched. For the longest time, they just sat there, not saying anything, but Mulder could not shake the feeling that he had been on the other side of this scene before.

* * *

Scully sighed. Her mind was elsewhere, and the car seemed to drive itself, turning corner after corner on its own. _What am I doing? The trip to the police station and the morgue was little more than a complete and utter waste of time, though, I suppose, the hospital had been a bit more of a payoff. The house is a sty, and if I know Mulder, he hasn't picked up a blasted thing like I requested him to, and…wait a minute…what am I thinking? Get a hold of yourself, Dana; it's only an undercover job. If the house is a mess, it's no big deal. Ugh, that wait at the police station must have gotten to me…_

Finally, the two stories of brick that formed her current home came into view. She immediately noticed parking in the driveway was not going to be an option; David and Mulder were playing basketball. Actually, it looked like David was doing most of the playing; Mulder was just getting hammered unmercifully. She had to laugh at seeing her partner in such an unfamiliar position as she stepped out of the car.

"Hey, nice shot, David," Scully said, closing the door behind her. 

"Thanks!" David said, sinking another one.

"Hey, I have ten points, I'll have you know," Mulder said.

"To?" Scully asked.

"Fifty-two when I stopped counting," David replied. 

"Perhaps, but I'll have you know that six of those were luck, and I let you have that one. So technically it was only forty-five."

"Yeah, sure," David replied, rolling his eyes slightly. 

Scully smiled and started up the drive. It made her happy, sort of relieved, that Mulder and David got along so well, though she was not sure why. Once inside, she considered trying to prepare dinner, though they could live on take out forever on the FBI's budget, but nixed the idea when she noticed the pile of dishes in the sink. 

She leaned against the sink as she listened to the warm water fill the basin. She usually hated doing dishes, and having to do them for two extra people should not have helped any, however, there was something about it that made her feel at peace. It was all so…normal…

She jumped when she heard the banging of the door. It was just David, breathing heavy, and his white t-shirt clinging to the sweat on his body. "Hey," he said, giving a nervous wave, as he tried to hurry past her to his room. It was something Scully had often seen from her brother; David was hiding something.

"David," she said, instinctively. As she looked up, something caught her eye. It was a small spot of red on his lower back. It looked like blood. "What is that on your shirt?" she asked.

"What's what?" he asked, trying to sound oblivious. 

She grasped him by the shoulder and pointed at his back. "This," she said.

"Oh, that," he began, "it's nothing. I just fell, that's all."

"May I look at it?"

"It's not that big of a deal. I'm okay."

"David, it's bleeding rather profusely for such a minor laceration. I'm a doc…I mean, I used to be a nurse. I think you should let me look at it."

He fidgeted for a moment. Reluctantly, he said, "Alright," and followed her to the bathroom. She asked him to turn around. He did and lifted up his shirt.

_Oh my God._ What Scully saw made her struggle to keep from gasping. The scrape was about an inch in diameter and slowly leaking bright red blood, but that, however, was a minor concern now. The boy's back looked like it had been through Hell. It was covered with long, faded, but still visible, markings. Some were thin, about the width of a broom handle. Others were considerably thicker.

She swallowed hard, trying to regain her composure. He winced as she rubbed some disinfectant on the wound. As she continued her treatment of the injury, she started, "David, these markings on your back…"

"They're from skateboarding," he said quickly, interrupting her. He caught her puzzled look in the mirror and added, "You know, from grinding down stair rails? I use to fall off all the time."

"Oh," Scully replied, placing a bandage on his back. "Doesn't it hurt?" she asked, forcing herself to sound casual. She worried that it may have sounded too casual.

He looked up at her and smiled weakly. "Sometimes. Sometimes it hurts a lot. But if you think of something that makes you really happy, the pain just seems to go away."

Scully exhaled slowly. "Oh," she said. "Well, you should probably go change."

"Yeah," he said. He started to walk out, but stopped. He turned around, and embraced her. "Thanks," he said, "for everything."

He walked out of the room, and Scully went back to the kitchen where the sink was full of water and dirty dishes. She did not think about what she had just seen. It was not that she could not, but she chose not to. In her career she had seen bodies mutilated beyond recognition of being human and not so much as flinched, yet somehow, those scars on the back of this child she barely knew, but had grown so found of, caused a volley of emotions to explode within her: sympathy, sadness, horror, shame, anger. All at the same time. Naturally, she chose not to think about it, because if she had, there was no way she could keep her cool exterior. Without keeping her calm, she would blow the case, and then they would never know the truth of what happened on the night the Andersons died.

She picked up a glass and started to reach for a washcloth, but instead placed her hand to her face. It muffled a few silent tears as her hand shook slightly. 

Crash!

Scully swore, looking down at the broken glass scattered over the floor. She took a deep breath to regain her composure, vowing not to let the emotions win her over, and made her way to the broom closet. Without looking, she reached into the darkness and gripped the handle of the broom. Something was on it. She jerked her hand back quickly, and stared at what now covered it as well. It was smooth, grainy- like course powder. It almost felt like soot… 

* * *

"Scully, I don't think David murdered his sister. Well, at least not voluntarily," Mulder said, leaning against the dresser. 

"What makes you say that?" Scully said distantly.

"He saw the picture I put out last night and asked about Samantha. He didn't react like someone with an intent to murder would have." Mulder paused. "He…he cried."

Mulder watched as Scully's face began to turn red, and her eyes pink; she blinked, trying to hold back tears. "Oh God, Mulder…"

He handed her a tissue and put his arm around her. "If it makes you feel better, he didn't shed any tears."

She saw how sad that was, and could not hold back any longer.

Seeing he was unwittingly making things worse, Mulder asked, "What is it?"

"He showed me his back, Mulder," she said between sobs.

"It was an accident. I swear. He went for a lay-up; I packed him. I felt bad about it, but he said he was okay …"

"No, it's not that. There were…markings…several of them…markings consistent with those caused by a wooden pole and a leather strap."

"Are you saying David was beaten?"

"From the looks of it, it appears he was beaten more than once several times over the years. God, it makes me so angry, Mulder, to think that someone could do that to a child, especially one as remarkable as David is." She broke down, her sobs no longer controllable. 

Mulder didn't say anything. He just tightened his embrace on her as she cried in his arms. For the second time that day, his awkward comforting was needed.

Scully took a deep breath. "And it's not just that," she said, not wanting to go further, but she could not keep it in any longer. "It's…everything. It's all of this," she motioned around the room. "I keep telling myself that it's not real, that it's just 'make-believe', but, Mulder, it's everything that I have always wanted. The house. The family. The normalcy of it all. I'm becoming not only emotionally involved, but I find myself thinking- wanting- this to all be real. And it's not, Mulder, it's not. I know that, but I also know that this is something that I can never, ever, have." 

She lifted her tear stained face up and looked into his. For once, when she needed it the most, he did not have an answer. He ran his hand across her face, wiping away the tears, and running his fingers through her hair. She shuddered and buried her face in his shoulder, feeling so helpless because all she could do was cry. 

* * * 


	5. Kelly's Café

Kelly's Café  
Bloomfield, Kansas  
10:27 A.M.

Mulder sipped at his cup of coffee, then slowly lowered it to the table, glancing at the people around him, not sure why he was looking over his shoulder in a café of all places. He reasoned it was force of habit. After all, how many times had he been told to "trust no one"? 

Across from him, Scully was "visiting him at work". She had gotten up this morning as if the night before had never happened, as strong and collected as ever. 

"Trust no one." 

There was at least one exception to that rule, and she was sitting across from him, sipping coffee with a weak smile on her face. Looking at her now, Mulder started to think about how he could tell her anything, how much he could trust her-how much she could trust him- yet she always tried to keep him locked out behind a wall of self control. She would have him think nothing at all was wrong right now, that she was not tearing herself apart on the inside. It was a wall, a front, that Mulder saw right through. He admired her strength, her ability to carry on, no matter how much he questioned its purpose. 

"You know, Scully, it's kind of funny," he said, taking another sip, "my posing as an attorney- someone who does everything he can to cover up the truth." 

She said nothing but merely smiled in reply, looking up at him as she took a sip of her own coffee. Behind him, about three tables back, an elderly man was sweeping the floor where a woman and her daughter had been earlier. His hands were unwashed, and they left smudges each time he slid them up for a better grip. "Mulder," Scully started, still watching the sweeper, "did you by chance sweep yesterday?" 

"No," he replied, thinking it was an odd question. "Am I in trouble? I started to, but David offered. Why?" 

"No reason, it's just that," she said, "when I picked up the broom yesterday it was covered in a black, powder substance. I wouldn't have mentioned it, except it took forever to get off." 

"Black powder? Like ash or soot?" he asked. He had that look on his face that she had seen at least a hundred times before. 

"Yes. Why? Does it prove the existence of metamorphic lawn gnomes?" 

"Possibly, but I can't back that up," he said, placing a brief case on the table. Every good attorney needs a brief case, however, undercover ones carry more than just legal documents. Mulder took out the picture of Patricia Anderson's mangled body, glancing over it quickly. "Right there," he said, showing the picture to Scully. 

"It's a dead woman covered with severe burn wounds, Mulder. Not much has changed since I saw it in D.C." 

"No, look closer. There, on her hand, what do you see?" 

"I see a shadow." 

"From that angle?" 

"Mulder, I don't know what conditions this photograph was taken under. If you are suggesting that it's the same substance that was on the broom…" 

"And on David's suitcase. Scully, it makes sense. I've read about instances where people with telekinetic capabilities, when they use these abilities, it leaves a residue. Kind of like ashes left by a fire. It would explain how his mother died, as well as how he was able to carry that suitcase." 

"So, you're suggesting that David has some kind of telepathic-" 

"Telekinetic." 

"Telekinetic ability that he decimated his mother with?" 

He nodded. 

"Mulder, regardless of the absurdity of the existence of psychokinetic abilities, if using these abilities left a residue, why wasn't his mother's entire body covered with the black substance?" 

"I don't know. Perhaps it only leaves a residue under certain circumstances, for instance, when moving objects. Or maybe the heat generated by the assault was more efficient and didn't leave a residue. I'm just speculating." 

"You're right, Mulder, you are just speculating. Your inability to lift David's suitcase could have been brought on by a momentary muscle failure or an ego that keeps you from admitting you're not as strong as a twelve year old boy. As for the soot, David's a young male; I'm sorry, Mulder, but you're not the cleanliest of genders." 

"I think my theory is just as reasonable as 'spontaneous combustion'." 

"I did some research, Mulder, checked out her medical records, and did some reading. It's called the 'Candle Theory'. A person's clothes can be set on fire by something as small as a cigarette, and if the fire burns fast enough, the fat in the body liquefies and fuels the fire, burning the person inside and out. Mrs. Anderson had a history of lung problems, suggesting she was a smoker, and you can tell from the picture she had a considerable amount of fuel." 

"They have never proven that theory; no one has witnessed it." 

"Since when have proven theories mattered to you?" 

"I'm just saying that it could have been something else, besides, most victims of the phenomenon are senior citizens; Mrs. Anderson was thirty-eight, middle aged, but hardly a senior citizen." 

"I really don't think Patricia Anderson's age was a determining factor in this, Mulder," she replied, taking another sip of coffee. 

"Excuse me," said a man, head turned to look at them, sitting in the booth behind Scully. He was dressed in a flannel shirt and had a cap on his head that said "Blue Construction". "I couldn't help overhearing you talking about Patricia Anderson." 

"You knew her?" Mulder asked. 

"Well, sort of. The family went to our church. Patricia and her husband Carter, they were something else." 

Mulder made a motion for the man to sit next to him. When the man did, he extended his hand, "Name's Dan Smith." 

Mulder shook it. "Pleased to meet you, Dan. I'm Fox Mulder, this is my par..er..wife, Dana Mulder." 

"Hello," Scully said, sipping her coffee. 

"So, Dan, what do you mean they were 'something else'?" Mulder asked. 

"Well," Dan said, leaning in closer, like he did not want anybody to hear, "Carter and Patricia were very religious. Perhaps, too religious, if you know what I mean. They never missed a service, ever. And they took the whole thing so serious too. If one of their kids ever so much as coughed during church, they really let them have it. They seemed to take it out on the boy more than the girl. I always thought it was a shame; they seemed like such well-behaved children to me. Then again, I guess they had to be." 

"Did you ever see either of them strike one of their children?" Scully asked. 

"No, not with my own eyes. It was mostly the mother, mainly. She usually just took them into the back room and yelled at them, I think. One time, though, I remember them sitting in front of me. The boy had been drawing a picture during most of the service. She had scolded him a few times already for other things, like not paying attention; you know how kids are. Anyway, it was a real good picture too; I think was of a spaceship, like the kind from **Star Wars**. Well, Patricia saw it, and she tore it up all mad like. Then she jerked the kid up by the ear and drug him downstairs. They were gone for about ten minutes probably. When they came back, the boy's face was red, the way my kid's looked when she's been trying not to cry." 

"What about the boy and the girl, did they get along?" Mulder asked. 

"Oh, yeah, they got along real good from what I could tell. They got along a lot better than their parents did." 

"What do you mean?" asked Scully. 

"Well, and this is just some hearsay I picked up, but I heard that they were at each other's throats all the time at home. If they weren't yelling at one of the kids, they were yelling at each other. They say the only reason the two of them stayed together is because the good Lord looks down on divorce." Dan said and looked down at his watch, his face twisting in surprise. "Oh jeeze, I have to run. My break's over." 

"Well, Mr. Smith, thanks for your time," Mulder said, shaking the man's hand again. 

"Oh, don't mention it. You know," he added, before he walked off, "I also heard that that boy wound up killing his parents. To tell the truth, I don't see how I could blame him." 

* * *


	6. Playing with Fire

1@/\/61y_15_60D: you two are going down! my drones are pumped up with fire rods and their exp. is maxed out! 

Dos_Diablos: heh heh heh…

1@/\/61y_15_60D: hey! whoa! what is that?! 

Dos_Diablos: just a little payback for the "great mage slaughter" you pulled off last game…

1@/\/61y_15_60D: how the hell did you get level 13 mech?

Dos_Diablos: you dont have one? ha ha

Dos_Diablos: david says you really suck…

1@/\/61y_15_60D: im going easy on you, i didnt know that little punk was a pro at this! i assumed he was as bad as you.

Dos_Diablos: hey, wasn't that your "unconquerable solar canon" our mech just toppled?

1@/\/61y_15_60D: …oh you two are so toast now…

"What are you doing in here? You aren't showing him more pornography, are you, Fox?" Scully asked, walking into the room. David and Mulder were sitting side-by-side in front of the computer. They had been there for the last hour, often laughing wickedly with Mulder occasionally shouting profanity.

"We're playing **Galaxy Cross** and beating this one guy pretty badly. It's funny, because he kept rubbing in how his Yurni Gladiators could rip through an entire fleet of level fifteen Land Tanks," David replied.

"And we slaughtered his entire platoon with one level seven Raptor Land Cruiser," Mulder finished. They high-fived each other.

"Wouldn't it be more productive if you found something that required more…physical… capabilities to do? For instance, the laundry perhaps?" she replied.

"Aw, Dana, come on. We want to watch him suffer. We already mopped and vacuumed the downstairs," David pleaded.

"If you think about it," Mulder started, "life is nothing more than a game. We must constantly keep our eyes open, always watching with our finger over the 'go' button. Fear is always there, fear of staying in one spot for too long, fear of being closed in so that there is no escape. What happens if you do not keep moving forward? The same thing that happens when you move forward blindly; you get caught, and surrounded, bogged down by a dead end job, suffocated by a family, or trapped by Yurni Gladiators. Then what do you do? There are two options: you can give up hope while you die a slow and anguished death, or you can fire up your photon torpedoes and kick some serious ass!"

"Wow! You just took out his entire squadron!" David exclaimed with amazement.

"And I hope you have learned an important lesson from this," Mulder said.

"You know, dear," Scully said, still not use to calling her partner by his first name, "I don't think 'photon torpedoes' are a conventional way to move up in the work place. And the laundry is not getting-" she was interrupted by the phone ringing. "We'll finish this discussion when I get back," she said. 

In the kitchen, the phone sat on the table, leftover from when they ordered pizza earlier in the evening. She put it to her ear and answered, "Mulder residence."

"Agent Scully?" the voice on the other end replied.

"Assistant Director Skinner, good evening, sir," she replied, instinctively taking the phone upstairs so David would not walk in. 

"How is the case going?" Skinner asked, as her feet quietly carried her up the brown, soft steps.

---

David leaned back in his chair and started to reach for his Mountain Dew. The computer table was covered with almost sixteen empty cans already, and looking at them now, he suddenly had to go. Bad.

"Hey, Fox," he said, "I'm going to the bathroom. Watch his Destroyers. He's been keeping them in the back for some while, and I think he's up to something."

"You're right, he is up to something. Hey, wait," Mulder called as David started to walk out of the room. "When did we mop?"

"Uhh…about an hour ago?"

"Where did we knock the bucket over at?"

"The bathroom. I remember Dana being pi...ticked…when she saw the rug. The floor's probably still wet..."

"You better use the one upstairs then."

---

"Agent Scully, is something the matter?" Skinner asked.

"No," she lied, sitting down on the bed. _It's not bothering me. The perfect house, the family. I don't care at all, right? It's not everything that I have imagined; it doesn't give me the comfort and stability that I have sought all of my life for._ "I just have a headache, that's all." _How much longer can I lie to myself?_

"Well then, why don't you tell me what progress you and Mulder are making?"

---

David leaned against the bathroom counter, pushing his hair back, and staring into his reflection in the mirror. He smiled. That was something he did not think he would be doing a week ago. Fox and Dana were such nice people. They cared about him, they really did; he could feel it. He could trust them, he was safe here, and he would not have to worry about anything ever again. "I love it here," he said to the person in the mirror. 

He smiled back in reply.

David raised his eyebrow and paused as he stepped into the hall. He thought he heard a voice, Dana's, muffled, but just barely audible. _Who could she be talking to?_ he wondered. Her voice was coming from the bedroom Fox and her shared. Slowly and in silence, David peeked in. Dana sat on the bed, talking into the cordless phone. _Oh,_ he thought, feeling ashamed that he had spied on her. He started to turn around to go back downstairs, but suddenly stopped. _Did she just say my name?_

---

"I think we're going to need another week, at least, with David in order for us to be certain about anything. I think he trusts us, so I don't think it will be too hard to get information about the murders from him. In addition, we believe that he was abused by his parents, or at least his mother; that is the only motive we have been able to establish thus far."

"What about his sister?" 

Silence.

"Agent Scully, are you still there?" Skinner asked.

"I-I'm sorry. I just…I had that feeling that someone was watching me," she said, looking towards the doorway. It had been a lie before, but now her head was really starting to hurt. She remembered the pain relievers in the nightstand drawer. "Mulder doesn't think he murdered his sister. From my interactions with David, I would have to agree with him." 

She pulled on the handle. The drawer did not move. She pulled again, harder. Still, it did not budge. They had locked the drawer after David found the gun; she had forgotten that. The key rested inside the top drawer of the dresser, and she hastily snatched it up.

"So if David didn't murder his sister, who did?"

"I don't know," Scully replied, thrusting the key into the lock, "Mulder and I have yet to discuss that." The key turned quicker than Scully expected. She pulled it out and examined it.

The end was covered with black film, the same that had been on the broom handle. She kneeled down, and examined the keyhole. It looked like someone had taken a blowtorch to it. 

The drawer opened with more ease than it should have. "Assistant Director," Scully said, keeping her voice as controlled as possible as she peered inside, "I'll call you back."

"Agent Scully, what is it?" The only answer Walter Skinner received was the click as Scully switched off the phone.

---

"Mulder," Scully said, bursting into the room where Mulder still sat, occupied by the computer game.

"Now now, darling pie, that's no way to talk to your husband," he replied. 

"Cut the crap, Mulder, this isn't a time for jokes. Where's David?"

Obviously, something was wrong. "He went to the bathroom. Why?"

"Mulder, your gun is missing."

"Shi-... David!" Mulder shouted, rising quickly out of his chair. He stepped up to the foot of the stairs and called up, "David!" 

The front door slammed.

"Shit," Mulder mumbled, stumbling through the den. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, that Scully had ran up the stairs. _Where is she going?_ He did not have time to think about it as rain met him in the face at the front step. Through the night and storm, he could make out a small shadow running up the sidewalk. "David!" he called and chased after him.

---

_This bad. Real bad. He's a lost, frightened little boy; he's still a child. But he's possibly armed, and, as much as I don't want to believe it, he is dangerous,_ Scully's mind raced as she thrust her hand under the bed, and the cool metal it met burned her palm.

---

_He's lost, scared. He's a frightened child alone in the world, alone in his world; he sees no hope but to keep running. He's afraid and confused,_ Mulder reasoned. Ahead of him, he saw David slip and fall on the unforgiving concrete. The boy got up slowly, and gripped his arm frantically. He was hurt, but he did not stop to catch his breath. 

He just ran. 

Mulder saw the shadow cloaked shapes of the park coming into view. He watched as the shadows of the tall, dark trees swallowed the figure of the fleeing youth. Taking a deep breath, Mulder let the trees swallow him as well.

Mulder looked around. He was in a circular area, surrounded by trees. The only thing he could see besides the fixtures of leaf and bark was the black, night sky that was filling puddles around him. David was nowhere to be seen. Leaning on his knees, Mulder struggled to get a few deep breaths. "I'm getting too old for this. David! David? Where are you?"

The wind answered him with a deafening howl.

"David! Come on out now, David. Look, we can talk about this. Everything is okay. You can trust me, all right? There is nothing to be afraid of!"

"Aaargh!" Mulder's body tensed and straightened. He tried to move his legs, but they would not respond. He could feel the ground leaving his feet, as he was pulled into the air by unseen hands. His breathing quickened, but the air was hot. He was hot. The air he was riding on was hot, and rising in temperature. 

Before him stood the boy, cold, unmoving, masked in shadow. Despite the rain, Mulder could make out tiny drops falling off the boy's arm.

Blood.

The boy spoke. "Who are you?" It was a coarse whisper that Mulder was just able to hear.

Sweating, breathing hard, feeling the cold from the rain and the heat from the invisible strings holding him in the air, it was hard for Mulder to concentrate. He tried to come up with a plan, a way to talk himself out of this, but he could not string the words together. All he could do was stick to the lie. "You know who I am."

Mulder's neck snapped back and his arms felt like they were being torn, slowly, painfully from their sockets. It hurt all over. He wanted to scream, but no sound would come out.

"Tell me who you are!" the boy shouted.

Mulder did not reply.

"Tell me who you are, damn it!" 

"David," Scully said, pointing the barrel of her gun at the child's head, "put him down." 


	7. Lament

All around Agent Dana Scully, the trees seemed to bend and tremor in awe of the child's power. "I will shoot," she threatened. She thanked God for giving her voice enough support to not waver. 

"Tell me who you are," he demanded, not moving at all.

_David, don't do this. Please. Don't do it. Don't make me do it. I-I- _She could not even think it, but she knew that her heart had been captured and wrapped around this case, captured by this child. "David," she said slowly, her arms shaking, trying to keep the tears that so desperately wanted to come out inside, "please, just put him down." Her voice cracked, and she did not know how much longer she could keep her emotions in check. Professionalism was becoming the least of her worries.

Mulder's heartbeat quickened; his pulse raced. His face twisted in an anguished scream that reverberated in only an eerie echo of silence.

"I heard you talking," David said, disenchanted, "about me. About what happened to my family. I want to know who you are."

Scully shuddered as she inhaled deeply. It was no use to deny it now. Finally, she said, "We're special agents Dana Scully and Fox Mulder with the FBI. We were assigned to investigate the murders of your father, mother, and sister by posing as foster parents."

He made no move, despite her heart begging him for everything, to put Mulder down. She wanted nothing more than to go back to the house, to go back to the lie, and to live the last few days all over again.

"David, don't do this. We really do care about you. Please, put him down. Don't make this any harder on yourself or us, please, David, just let him go. I don't want to hurt you. Please, don't make me hurt you."

At first, nothing happened, the three of them motionless in the driving rainstorm. Then slowly, to Scully it seemed an eternity, David fell to his knees in the mud. His face hung down, and his body shook with each and every breath he took in and let out. 

The agonizing pain consuming Mulder's body lessened. The heat subsided, and the coolness of the rain soothed him as he once again felt the mud beneath his feet, dirt and water rolling off his back. 

Scully was still frozen, unable to take it all in. Finally, realization sunk in, and she let her gun drop to the cold, wet earth. It killed her to watch David kneeling there, alone, so alone, and she longed to hold him and tell him that it was okay. 

Hesitantly, she walked to him, and kneeled next to him on the ground. Hearing his sobbing as he held in as much as he could broke her heart, and she could not control her arms as they wrapped around the child. His body shook in her arms, each shake tearing her up inside. 

From the cool rain came a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

Dana Scully looked up into the soothing face of her partner as he said, "Let's go home."

* * *

"That's a nasty scrape you picked up, David," Scully said, blanket draped around her shoulders, wrapping a bandage around the boy's arm. "That should just about do it," she said upon finishing.

"Thanks," he replied, having to swallow his hot chocolate quickly so he could say it. "So… you two aren't married?" 

"No," Mulder replied, sitting down next to his partner, "we're just…partners…"

"Really?" David asked, disbelieving. "Never even dated?"

"No," Mulder replied.

"Wow," David muttered.

Scully looked up at Mulder and smiled. He blushed, or he would have had he been anyone other than Mulder, and changed the subject. "David, we need to have a talk."

"I'm ready."

"Could you explain your…gift…to us?"

"You mean my telekinesis?"

Seeing the stunned look on Mulder's face, David added, "I saw it in **Uncanny X-Men **and looked it up on the Internet."

"I see," Mulder replied. "Go on."

"Any way, I've been able to move things with my mind since I was about four, I guess. I never told anybody about it, not even my friends. I was always kind of afraid of Mamma; she was real big into that 'Get him, he's a devil!' stuff. My sister got in big trouble once for just mentioning **Harry Potter**." The thought of his deceased sister made him look down.

"Can you explain how it works?" Scully asked. Rationalization was no longer a priority. 

"I just think of something moving, and it does. I've gotten better at it as I've practiced, if that means anything."

"I see," Mulder again said slowly.

"David," Scully said, even slower, " can you tell us about your family?"

He took a deep breath. "Well, my mom and dad were always arguing about something. Sometimes it was with each other, but usually it was with me and Kris. I usually got off pretty easy; Momma usually just hit me a couple of times, but Kris…Momma was a lot crueler to her.

"She always found something to yell at Kris about. Always. Even stuff that Kris had nothing to do with. Like when Momma broke one of her good plates or if she forgot where she put her cigarettes, she took it out on Kris. One time she locked her in the basement all night." He bit his lower lip.

"Mulder, I don't know if I can hear this," was what Scully wanted to say, but she did not. _Be strong, Dana. Be strong for David._

David continued. "One night, Momma and Kris got into at the top of the basement stairs. I think Momma was blaming her for her cigarettes being missing, accusing her of hiding them. It's kind of funny," David said, smiling because if he did not he might cry, "but Kris did hide them. She never liked Momma's smoking; I didn't either, but not as much as Kris didn't like it. Well, Kris starts yelling back in her face, saying that she'd run away, and it makes Momma really angry. Really angry.

"I don't know if she meant to, but," his voice caught in his throat, "she ended up pushing Kris down the stairs. I saw her do it. Right before she fell, she reached out for something to hold on to, and she looked right at me. I-I tried to get to her in time, really, I did, but I couldn't reach her, and I watched her as she fell. Each time she hit a step, it was the worst sound I had ever heard. Finally, she stopped falling, and she just laid there, her body all twisted around. 

"She moaned. She was still alive. I-I wanted to go to her, and I tried to go down the stairs, but Momma grabbed me, and drug me away. Then she locked the basement door so I couldn't get to her. I kept shouting Kris's name over and over, but Momma wouldn't let go. I begged and pleaded with her, but she wouldn't let me go to her. I tried to get away, but she was too strong. I did the only thing I could; I pushed her back telekinetically. I didn't mean to push her all that hard, but she went flying across the room and into a wall. It shook pictures off in the next room. Dad came in to see what happened, and I was kicking and banging on the basement door, trying to get it open and get Kris out of there." He sniffled, and wiped his eyes.

"David, if this is too painful…" Scully began.

"No, I'm okay," he lied. "Mamma stumbled to the table in the den, and she came back with the Bible and the gun. She started talking to me like I was Satan. I froze; I didn't know what to do. Dad tried to stop her, saying that she was out of her head, to go sit down. He didn't know about Kris. He just knew she had a gun pointed at my head. She pushed him away and started to pull the trigger. I panicked and reached out and shoved her arm away with my mind; the shot went wild. It…it hit my dad. He fell to the floor, choking and gasping as he lied there. Momma goes ballistic, saying every prayer she can think of and cursing me to Hell and back. 'Momma, please,' I said, 'please calm down.' I was crying; I couldn't help it. She slapped me across the face and I fell to the floor."

He took a deep breath, shaking almost violently. Scully put her hand on the boy's shoulder, trying to steady him. 

"Then she pressed the gun to my head. Oh, God, I can still feel its hot metal against the side of my face." A tear began a trail down his cheek that many soon followed. "I've never been more scared than I was at that moment. I shut my eyes, waiting for the bang of the gun. During that time, it felt like my head was on fire. Just a burning, painful fire. When the gun never went off, I opened my eyes, and Mamma was dead. I don't know how I did it…but I killed her.

"After that I used my power to knock the basement door down. 'Kris! Kris!' I called, 'It's me, David!' She didn't answer me. When I got to her, she wasn't breathing, and she was cold. So cold." The tears came quicker than before.

"I took the gun, and I threw it out the window, just to get it as far away from me as possible. Then I called 911, told them my family was…dead…and that was the last time I talked about it until now."

Scully put her arm around him.

An eternity of silence passed in about a minute within the quiet white light in the soft, crème colored room. 

"David," Mulder asked, breaking the silence, "where is my gun?"

David smirked weakly. "It's at the bottom of the pond in the park. I threw it in yesterday morning, on the way to school. I-I couldn't sleep at night knowing that you had it."

Scully could feel her heart tearing itself into shreds. The story had broken it, no, shattered it, but the most agonizing pain came from knowing that the case was over. It came from knowing that she would have to leave this house, that she would have to get up from this crème colored couch soon, and that this wonderful person sitting beneath her arm's protection, sipping hot chocolate, would step out of her life forever. "David, if there is anything you want to do tomorrow. Anything at all, just name it. Is there something you want to do?"

"Yeah."

* * * 


	8. Learning How to Smile

Benjamin Parker Memorial Cemetery  
Bloomfield, Kansas  
11:32 A.M.

Mulder and Scully stood back as the young boy kneeled in front of the tombstone, carefully placing the flowers they had picked out earlier in front of it. They watched from afar as the boy said his final goodbyes to his sister. 

Being surrounded by death, the silence made Scully uncomfortable. "You know, Mulder," she said, "we still aren't certain what happened to Patricia Anderson."

"Well, I have two theories," Mulder replied. "David could be not only telekinetic but pyro-kinetic as well; that is, he has the ability to create fire with his mind as well as motion. The other possibility is that the massive amounts of adrenaline released during the situation somehow reacted with whatever allows him to use his power, magnifying its intensity. Kind of like when a person does something physically impossible in an emergency, or that old episode of **The Lucy Show**." He turned to look at his partner, her face paler than usual. "What do you make of it, Scully?"

"Well, Mulder, couldn't it also be possible that instead of telekinetics or chemical reactions an appliance or a light short circuited, and a spark set off the 'Candle Theory'?"

"I suppose it's possible, though not likely," Mulder replied, turning his attention back to David. He paused, drawing in a slow, heavy breath. "I see so much of myself in him, Scully."

"What do you mean, Mulder? Are you talking about how he is intelligent, witty, but still just a twelve year old boy?"

"That too, I suppose," he said, smiling a little. He sighed. "Kristina wasn't much older than Samantha was when she was kidnapped."

"I thought you had come to terms with this, Mulder."

"I have, but I can't help wondering 'what if?' What if David had not been born to such God-awful parents? Would his sister have died? What if Samantha had never been kidnapped? Would not life had been much better for all of those involved if such crucial variables had been altered?"

Scully thought for a second, and then said, "Mulder, you do realize that if you had never lost Samantha you would have never sought out the X-Files. I would have never been assigned as your partner; we probably never would have even spoken to one another. We would have missed out on one of the best relationships in our entire lives. Then what about David? He probably would have been locked up, keeping his pain to himself until one day the load became so unbearable that he collapsed under its weight. What if that happened? What if life is one big picture, that when you look at it as a whole, even the darkest elements are seen as crucial and important to the entire portrait?"

"I hate it when you do that."

"Do what?"

"Beat me at my own game."

* * *

FBI Headquarters  
9:37 A.M.  
One month later

_Dear Dana and Fox,_

How are you? I'm fine. The Watsons are very nice, and I really like it here. They have a son, about my age (his name is Robert), but I have my own room. They even have a swimming pool! Mr. and Mrs. Watson are really good to me, but they aren't as cool as you two are. I tried to get Robert into **Galaxy Cross**, but he isn't very good at it. Don't tell him I said this, but he SUCKS. He can't even beat the Qasdac Gun Squad with a level 12 Mech! I'm dieing for competition. You and I will have to play sometime, Fox.

How are your current cases going? I bet they aren't as exciting as me. (heh heh) I don't use my telekinesis much at all. Sometimes I do if I have to clean my room, but that's it, really, I swear. Okay, maybe when I take out the garbage too. 

There's this girl at school I really like. Her name is Heather Pear. She's smart, funny, and she smells really good. I think she likes me too. We're supposed to go to the movies this Friday, wish me luck. 

I hope you two are having a good time whatever you are doing. I miss you both a lot. If you're ever over here in Kansas on a case, come by and see me. I'm sure Mr. and Mrs. Watson won't mind strangers sleeping in their house :). Please write me sometime.

Your friend,  
David.

P.S. When you two DO get married, I want an invite, okay? 

Scully smiled as she set the letter down.

"You and me married? Ha, like that will ever happen," Mulder scoffed, leaning back in his chair.

"I don't know, Mulder. Stranger things have happened to us."

"No they haven't."

She laughed, and sat down. Mulder watched as her smile slowly sunk into a frown. "What is it?" he asked.

"Remember that time we were stranded in the Arctic?"

"If you are going to say that was more pleasant than that feeling you got watching David wave as we got on the plane back here... I'm way ahead of you."

"Good to see some things never change."

"You realize, I find all these 'mushy' feelings are more irritating than that movie Skin-Man's buddy made about the O'Fallon case."

"Mulder," Scully said, looking at her partner, "how is it possible that you are able to say something surprisingly sweet yet obviously cynical at the same time?"

He just shrugged, and leaned forward on the desk, closer to her. "You figure it out. After all, Scully, you're smart, funny, and you smell good."

She laughed out loud. It was weird; with that one little laugh, she lit up the tiny little office and saw it in its new light. Where she was right now, though it was just a tiny, dark office instead of a sprawling two-story house with a picket fence and the perfect little suburban family, was where she belonged. Her perfect life was the one she was living at that moment. She realized then that she would not have it any differently.

For the time being…

Executive Producer:  
Chris Carter  
RavishinglyRood


End file.
